A Dark Embrace
by AndAct
Summary: Dean deals with his guilt the only way he can. Takes place after 'Children shouldnt play with dead things'
1. Chapter 1

_What if a demon were to creep after you one **night**, in your loneliest loneliness, and say, 'This life which you live must be lived by you once again and innumerable times more; and every pain and joy and thought and sigh must come again to you, all in the same sequence. The eternal hourglass will again and again be turned and you with it, dust of the dust!' Would you throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse that demon? Or would you answer, 'Never have I heard anything more divine'?__"_

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

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He loves the night; loves it like flowers love the kiss of a rain drop falling on their petals, like a bird loves the wind that lifts her wings. He belongs to the night; longs for the silence of shadows, the quiet lullaby of the wind whispering through the trees, and the feel of the moonlight playing over her skin. Willingly he walks into an ally drenched in darkness, challenging anything that might hear him; half hoping that something, anything, will answer.

AN: Don't own Supernatural, nor its characters, just borrowing them for a little angsty fun. Please forgive me my spelling mistakes, I wrote this at 3am, late night inspiration; you know how it goes, you write when the idea strikes. Lol, Anywho, enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Now I know I have a heart, because it's breaking."_

_Tin Woodsman, The Wizard of Oz_

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Dean runs a hand over his eyes, trying to scrub the sleep from them as he slips the motel key into his back pocket. A part of him feels bad, leaving Sam asleep and unguarded; but that part of Dean is small, it's whispers silenced by the greater part that urges his feet on into the night. He doesn't even pause as he walks past the impala, doesn't even think about it, just keeps on moving. A dry chuckle escapes his lips, right now he can't afford to stop; he's got too many memories chasing him.

His feet pound against the pavement, Dean doesn't really care where his feet take him, just as long as it's away from Sam. Sam who asks so many questions:

Are you ok Dean? Let's talk Dean. Dad's dead Dean.

The worst part is; Dean _knows_ Dads dead. And that's the crux of the matter really, he knows, he also knows _why_ dads dead. Him. It's his fault. And Dean misses him so much it burns. Where John used to be, only a hole in the world remains; one which Dean finds himself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. During the day Dean smiles, pretends nothing is wrong, and avoids Sammy's questions. But the night…the night is when Dean falls apart, when the weight of smiling and pretending begins to crush him. He's like a vase that gets pushed off a table and breaks each night only to be super glued back together by morning. Each night it gets harder and harder to glue the pieces back together. Dean can feel the cracks forming in the sunlight, and knows that when the night draws it's blanket over the sky, he will break into a million pieces. Just like he knows that by morning, he had better have found some superglue to put himself back together with. For a moment he was able to release his anger, pour it out in the form of a crowbar connecting with the black metal of the impala. In his mind it was his father he hit, his father who abandoned him, who left him with the guilt. Dean had begged his brother not to shoot John back in the cabin, yet in the end it didn't matter. Dean had killed him just as sure as if he had held a gun and shot the man point blank between the eyes.

Sam had awoken around 5am, rolled over and realized his brother was nowhere to be found. Panicked, it had only taken five minuets to pull on a shirt, a pair of pants, and grab the keys to the Impala. He wasn't an idiot, he knew about Dean's late night walks, and he also knew where those walks led. Within seconds Sam was pealing out of the motel parking lot, the Impala blending into the night.

Dean took another swig from the beer bottle, swaying as he made his way away from the bar. He didn't know how long he had been there, how long he had chased his daemons down, hoping to find serenity at the bottom of the bottle. Long enough to forget where the motel was obviously. Dean was just about to sit down and think for awhile when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't want to turn around, didn't want to face the disappointment in those brown eyes.

"Man, talk to me." Sammy pleaded.

"Go back t' the motel Sammy." Dean slurred; tears stinging at the edge of his eyes as he pulled out of the grasp.

Sam dodged around him, effectively blocking Dean's path. "You can't keep doing this, your killing yourself!"

Dean adverted his gaze.

"Don't you care?" Sam ground out, halting his brother by grasping his shoulders.

"Sammy…"

"God damn it Dean, I can't help you if you won't let me!"

"I never asked you too!" Dean spat. "Just go back to the motel, I need to..." He trailed off.

"Need to what, Dean?" Sam whispered.

Dean shook his head, twisting away before sinking to the curb next to the Impala.

"Need to what?"

"You wouldn't understand Sam." Dean stated, shaking the now empty bottle before tossing it into the road.

"Try me." Sam muttered, sinking down next to his brother.

Dean was silent, trying to gather his alcohol fuzzy thoughts into something coherent. "Im breaking Sam, and all I want is to find stronger superglue."


End file.
